


Just Relax, I Don't Want to Hurt You

by Moons_of_Avalon



Series: NonCon Trash (Brock has Bad Times because he is my Trash Son) [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 06:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9371216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moons_of_Avalon/pseuds/Moons_of_Avalon
Summary: Jack does bad things and Brock has a Bad Time™ (idk this is trash)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Расслабься, я не хочу навредить тебе](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9529691) by [Saysly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saysly/pseuds/Saysly)



> This is…not how I usually write Jack and Brock…but it was at the very least an interesting, if painful, personal exercise

Brock wakes up to a weight on top of him. The barracks are pitch black in the dead of night, but when Brock’s eyes adjust, he notices in seconds that Jack’s bed, directly across from him, is empty.

“Jack?” he whispers. A low chuckle from above him is his only answer. He tries to flip over onto his back, but, in an instant, finds himself pinned by strong thighs clasping his hips, unable to move. “Jack, what the–”

“Just relax. I don’t want to hurt you.”

The words shoot through Brock like ice. Ice that turns to fire when he feels a broad hand pushing up his shirt. 

“Jack, knock it off…” he hisses, trying to shove away. _What the fuck is Jack on tonight? Brock’s never done a damn thing to piss him off!_  Jack’s elbow digs into his back, pain flaring up and down his spine

“Come on, don’t be like that.” Despite Jack’s soft voice, there’s still a hint of warning in his tone, enough to have Brock freezing up yet again. _Jack’s his friend…this has got to be a prank…_

“I’m sleeping,” he tries, struggling for air under Jack’s weight. “G-go mess with somebody else…”

“But I want you.”

Nausea turns Brock’s stomach inside out the second those words reach his ears. _This can’t be happening…_

“Get off me.” His voice is lower now, demanding, but Jack just chuckles, and Brock bites his tongue to stop a whimper. _No, this isn’t real, this isn’t happening._  “Jack, I mean it this ain’t funny–”

“Who said it was?” Jack purrs. Brock flinches as Jack’s arm slips under him. “Come on, pretty boy, how long’s it been since we got any? What’s the harm?”

Something snaps in Brock the second Jack’s hand moves between his legs. He throws his elbow back, grunting and kicking, but it’s all to no avail. He only manages to squirm onto his side before Jack throws his weight down, grabbing Brock’s arm and closing his legs around Brock’s thighs. Brock chokes out a pained whine, and Jack’s hand slaps over his mouth and nose.

“Shut up!” he growls, his voice raw and aggressive for a single moment before he slides right back into that smooth whisper. “If you wake anybody up, I’ll tell them you came onto me, and everybody’s gonna believe it because we all know you’re a fucking fag, and a whore, to boot.”

Brock’s eyes go wide as he gasps for breath behind Jack’s hand, shaking his head as best he can. But he knows in the pit of his stomach that it’s true. He’s been called every name under the sun from the moment he enlisted: queer, fag, fairy…guys always shove him off the moment he gets too close, like they’re afraid they’re gonna ‘catch the gay’ from touching him. He’s already been given an earful on more than once for being ‘a little too friendly’ with people he’s barely even spoken to, because they decided to complain about him to a superior officer. If he cries rape, not a damn person in the whole US military is gonna believe him.

He gasps for air when Jack uncovers his mouth, coughing weakly. Jack’s smirking, evidently positive that Brock’s not going to scream for help.

“Jack, please…” he chokes out, horrified that he’s already resorting to begging. “Please, just leave me alone, I won’t tell anybody–”

“Thought I told you to shut up?” Jack shoves him back onto his front, and Brock doesn’t fight it, just tries to keep his face from being smothered. If Jack won’t let him go, he knows he’s got no chance. The guy is twice his size, and in this position, every ounce of that height and weight is being used to his advantage.

Brock hides his whimper in the pillow when Jack yanks his pants down, his skin stinging in the cold night air. “Please,” he begs again. “D-doesn’t have to be like this…”

“It does as long as you’re fighting me,” Jack mutters. “Told you, I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m taking what I want one way or another.”

Brock can only shake his head, nausea curdling in his stomach again when he hears Jack spit, followed by the slick sound of him stroking his cock.

“I thought you liked me…” he whispers, a hollow carving its way into his stomach as the reality of what’s about to happen sinks in. Jack’s never insulted him or pushed him away like so many others did. Brock had thought he was on of the good ones…

“I do like you,” Jack chuckles. Brock bites back a whimper this time when he feels Jack’s cock press against him, grinding back and forth. “That’s why I want a taste of this cute little ass you’re always twitching at anyone who walks by.”

Brock can’t even get out the sob clawing at his throat, because Jack’s hand covers his mouth again, muffling Brock’s scream when he forces himself inside him. Jack grunts, shoving Brock’s face into the pillow as he thrusts deep and rough, each one tearing like a knife in Brock’s core. Brock tries to keep screaming, any outlet for the pain, but finds he can’t even do that as he struggles to breathe around the pillow gagging his nose and mouth. He struggles feebly, but Jack’s laying on top of him now, rutting against him, and he’s got no escape. All he can do is sob, choking on his own snot and spit and tears every time he manages to find a tiny gasp of air.

He doesn’t know how long it lasts, but he sobs again when he feels wetness fill him. Jack indulges in a soft groan before pulling away; gone as quickly as he’d shown up.

Brock doesn’t move, just tips his head so he can breath, his eyes still tightly shut as his body tingles with the sudden rush of oxygen filling his lungs. If only that could do something for the pain in his hips and ass or the disgust in his stomach…

Finally, he somehow finds the will to reach down and pull up his pants, wincing and biting down on his cheek to stop a moan of pain as he shifts onto his side. Tears still stain his face, his pillow wet under his cheek, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the mess of cum and what’s surely blood leaking out of his torn hole, either, no matter how much the shame of it burns him.

Jack’s got his blanket pulled up over him, and from the slow rise and fall of his chest, is already asleep, his back facing Brock. Perfectly at ease. If Brock could feel his legs, he’d already be hunting down a bullet to put in Jack’s skull…

No, it would have to be two bullets, he corrects after a moment. One for Jack, and one to put himself out of his misery afterwards.

But all he does is lay still and numb, staring at Jack as he pulls his own blanket up around him and tucks it under his chin. He already knows he’s not getting anymore sleep tonight.

Hell, with Jack in bed across from him, he may never sleep again…

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at moonsofavalon.tumblr.com


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